


Strawberry Fields Forever

by merelypassingtime



Series: Just Like Heaven [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Over sexualization of accessory fruits, PWP, Picnics, Teencroft, Unicroft, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 23:51:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14556297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelypassingtime/pseuds/merelypassingtime
Summary: Mycroft takes Greg out for a picnic.Greg takes Mycroft in a whole different way.(Technically a part of my Unicroft series but easily read as a stand alone.)





	Strawberry Fields Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Um, I don’t write smut normally, and, as tame and vanilla as this is, it was still out of my comfort zone to write.  
> Sorry.  
> I did my best...

“Just leave it for now, and come over here.”

Mycroft looked up from the picnic hamper he had half packed with the wreckage of lunch to see Greg laying on on his back, his arms held open invitingly. He was more relaxed then he had all week and Mycroft allowed himself to feel smug. The picnic had been a good idea. 

So far the visit with Mycroft’s family was going exceedingly well, all things considered. Not that he was surprised, Greg’s natural charm and charisma were irresistible, he could personally attest to that. His parents were every bit as won over as he was. Even Sherlock had been impressed, if only in his own Sherlockian way. His habit of popping up in odd places with even odder questions for Greg had been one of the main reasons Mycroft arranged this picnic.

Now, Mycroft set down the bowl of strawberries he’d been about to pack away and crawled across the blanket towards his beckoning boyfriend. He settled in next to Greg, resting his head on the offered shoulder and sighing in contentment an arm was wrapped around him, pulling him in closer.

“Thank you for this,” Greg said, still looking up into the cloudless sky.

Mycroft, lost in the thrill of feeling that voice rumbling through the chest underneath his hand, took a moment to process Greg’s words. “Thanks for what?”

“For this little break. I mean, don’t get me wrong, your family is great-”

Mycroft interrupted with a skeptical noise.

“Yes, even Sherlock,” Greg answered.”You know, he isn’t half the terror you make him out to be.”

“No, he is worse. I didn’t warn you properly, lest you skip your visit all together.”

Greg sighed but didn’t argue. “Anyhow, it’s been so nice having a break and getting you all to myself for a while.”

“It was hard. Mummy was planning to drag us along to go look at antiquities with her today.”

“Oh, God. Really? Where would she even put any more antiquities? The whole estate is already stuffed full.”

“It’s not an estate!” Mycroft grumbled. “For the last time, it’s just a cottage.”

“It has wings, My. That’s never a cottage.”

“Only two wings.”

Greg laughed, then in a fair imitation of Mycroft’s accent, he said, “Oh, only two?! However will you hold your head up at the next Grand Ball?’

Mycroft tried out his best glare, and while the power of it did get Greg to look at him, he just grinned and leaned over to kiss the tip of his indignant nose. “Posh bastard,” he said with so much affection that Mycroft’s chest ached.

Still, when Greg tried to push in for a proper snog, Mycroft moved his head back, dodging Greg’s questing lips. “No, none of that,” he said with mock seriousness.

“Oh, come on.”

“Absolutely not.”

Greg tilted his head down to regard Mycroft with pleading brown eyes and whined, “But why not?”

“Because we need to finish eating those strawberries before they get too warm and go all soft and sticky.”

“You are right, the strawberries are not what I’d like to see go all soft and sticky and satisfied,” Greg purred, his voice deep and sultry. The arm still wrapped around Mycroft dipped lower, the hand coming to rest on Mycroft’s hip, fingertips tracing teasing circles tantalisingly close to his very interested cock.

Mycroft squirmed but managed to keep his voice level as he replied, “I never said the strawberries would be satisfied.”

Undeterred, Greg began kissing along Mycroft’s neck. In between kisses he said, “Yeah, and you’re anything but soft.” He punctuated the comment by pressing his hip against Mycroft’s growing erection. Mycroft gasped and arched into the pressure, his hand clutching at Greg’s shirt.

Greg chuckled, then pulled away slightly. Mycroft’s whine of protest died half formed as Greg was quickly back, this time laying on his side facing Mycroft fully. With his head still on Greg’s arm and Greg’s face now a bare inch away, Mycroft could no longer dodge the insistent man’s kiss. Not that he tried overly hard.

Several minutes of heavy snogging followed. By degrees Mycroft was pushed onto his back, Greg over him, his leg pressed firmly between Mycroft’s own providing much needed friction for both of them. 

Greg pulled away again, breathless and beautifully flushed, to smile his wicked smile down at Mycroft. “You know, I think you might be right. We should make sure those strawberries don’t go to waste,” Greg said, leaning back to grab the bowl.

“Wha-” Mycroft started, but his question ended in a grasp as the movement pressed their bodies closer together. His hands fell from Greg’s back to rest on his hips, gripping them hard enough to bruise.

Greg’s smile only grew as he set the bowl within easy reach. “ Why, My. I never knew you like strawberries so much.”

“Oh, you utter bastard.”

“Such language, Mr Holmes! Am I gonna have to find a better use for that mouth?”

Mycroft groaned, this time in exasperation instead of arousal. “That is a horrible line.”

“And that is a yes,” Greg said, picking a large strawberry from the bowl. He brought it to Mycroft’s lips, running the tip gently against them. As Mycroft had predicted, the strawberry was going soft. Juice dripped from it, staining his lips and filling his mouth with sweetness. Mycroft flicked out his tongue, trying to catch more of the taste. As soon as his lips parted, Greg stuffed the whole strawberry into his mouth. “There,” he said, “that’s better.”

Mycroft sputtered around the fruit, sitting up halfway before a laughing Greg kissed him back down to the blanket, the strawberry reduced to a pulp by the pressure of their mouths meeting. The resultant mess trickled down Mycroft’s cheeks and into his hair, but he was too focused on Greg to care much.

Greg pulled back again to get another strawberry, and Mycroft could only look up at him, slightly dazed by lust. This time he took a small bite of the strawberry himself before offering it to Mycroft, who bit into it immediately.

Greg hummed at the sight, “You do look good with your mouth stuffed full. Maybe I ought to fill my mouth with something sweet too,” he said, deft fingers already fumbling with the zipper of Mycroft’s trousers.

Mycroft groaned around the last bit of strawberry as Greg pushed aside his pants, freeing his confined cock. The groaned deepened in pitch as Greg flicked his tongue against the tip teasingly, then turned into a soundless exclamation as Greg’s took him into his mouth, surrounding him with delicious warmth and knocking all the breath from his lungs. 

It should have been embarrassing how little time it took for Mycroft to come, but the few minutes felt like forever. When he did come it was with one hand balled up against the blanket, the other twined in Greg’s thick hair. His vision went white around the edges and he tasted strawberries as his climax thundered through him.

Like the gentleman he was, Greg kept his mouth around Mycroft throughout, only pulling away when he was going soft once more. Even then he lingered, running his nose down Mycroft’s diminishing length and into the fine, gingery hairs at its base before planting a kiss there.

Mycroft laid there for a moment, basking in both the warm sunshine and the warmer afterglow. Finally, he heaved out a sigh that came out a satisfied hum and opened his eyes. 

The sight that greeted him stole his breath away again.

Greg was kneeling down over his feet, the afternoon sun lighting him from behind like a romantic painting as he rapidly fisted his cock. Mycroft’s first reaction was lust, damped only slightly by the endorphins and serotonin still running through his system, and awe that by some statistical improbability or unearned good fortune the Universe had given this sight and this man to call his own.

His second reaction was to panic that Greg was about to come all over him. There was no way that would go unnoticed and unremarked when they got back to the house.

“Greg, wait no-” he started, but was too late. Greg was already grunting through his release, spilling thick ropes of come over the legs of Mycroft’s trousers before collapsing next to him. 

Mycroft shifted down a couple of feet to join him, forcing his shoulder under Greg’s head, and holding him close as he eased down from his orgasm. 

Greg stayed there next to him long after his breathing evened out, seeming to enjoy the closeness. When he did move it was to rest his fingers against Mycroft’s cheek.

“There, sticky, soft, and satisfied, as promised,” he said, sounding smug. “You are even turning as red as a strawberry.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Berk. Grab me a napkin before the stain sets in.”

\---

Hours later, Mycroft was seated across the supper table from Greg, being forced to listen to his mother’s nattering.

“Really, Myc, a smart boy like you should at least have the sense to wear some sunscreen or, failing that, a hat.”

“I refuse to wear a sunhat like an old woman.”

“Clearly, or you wouldn’t be burned red right now.”

Greg, always the peacekeeper jumped in, “Oh, but I think the color becomes him, don’t you?” Then, with a look of unconvincing innocence, he held out a bowl to Mycroft, asking, “Here, My, would you like a strawberry?”

Mycroft took one without comment, blessing the sunburn that now hid his blush.

“But, I thought you hated strawberries,” his mother exclaimed, looking suspiciously between the two.

Greg arched an eyebrow across the table at him, and Mycroft just shrugged. “I guess they’ve grown on me.”


End file.
